


Obvious from the Evidence

by toyhto



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Everyone thinks they should do it, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Hot teacher AU no one asked for, I mean they're both teachers or ACTUALLY researchers/lectures in the uni, M/M, Their students think they should do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: The students think they are together already or if not, they should be.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 334





	Obvious from the Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> This is written to [this prompt on Daily AU Prompts](https://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/610952944127524864/were-teachers-and-our-students-keep-getting-in) on tumblr. Sorry (not sorry) about the clumsy philosophy jokes. And about the clumsy flirting. And about the amount of Star Trek references.
> 
> You can say hi to me on [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)!

”This is getting out of hands,” Eames said.  
  
Arthur took a deep breath. Eames was right. Just last night, Arthur had got a text from Ariadne saying that there was a long discussion on one of the stall doors in ladies’ bathroom about whether he and Eames would make a greatest love story of all time or drive each other to madness and an early grave. Arthur already knew the answer to that, but apparently the students had reached another conclusion. He had asked Ariadne to take a picture of the stall door for him, so that he could figure out what was wrong with these people.  
  
He raised his eyes from his desk, ready to say that Eames was right. Then he blinked. Eames was wearing a t-shirt that had a picture of Jean-Luc Picard on the front with a text _What Would Picard Do?_ The t-shirt was light blue and too small for Eames.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” Arthur said and took another pile of students’ papers he was supposed to be reading. “It’s only gossip. They’ll find something else to talk about.”  
  
“Arthur, darling,” Eames said with his stupid accent and walked to Arthur’s office without an invitation, like he always did. Arthur tried not to look at him and not just because of the t-shirt. If he didn’t look at Eames, maybe Eames would disappear. “Listen,” Eames said, sat down and leaned his elbows on Arthur’s desk. He smelled of tea again, tea and cologne. “They’ve been talking about us for the whole semester and it certainly doesn’t look like they’re going to drop it anytime soon. Did you know there’s a discussion about us written on a stall door in ladies’ bathroom?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said and straightened his back. There was no way to get rid of Eames now that he was sitting at Arthur’s desk. “Ariadne told me about it.”  
  
“The argumentation is pretty good,” Eames said. “Anyway, it doesn’t seem like they’re about to give up on us. On the contrary, they seem to be getting more determined.”  
  
Arthur grimaced. “I wish they’d be determined about their studies.”  
  
“My students are very determined about their studies, among other things,” Eames said and then grinned, and Arthur didn’t flinch. He _didn’t._ He just didn’t realize why Eames was always grinning at him. “But to be honest, three people asked me about you today.”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “What?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said, still grinning, as if this was _fun._ “At the end of my lecture, when I asked if they have questions, it turned out that they had questions about you. The first one asked if we were together. I told her that we aren’t. Then the second one asked if I know you, and I said that I do. And the third one wanted to know if you ever smile.”  
  
Arthur was a little shocked. Firstly, he _smiled._ Secondly, it was terrifying to think that Eames’ students were comfortable enough with him to ask him questions about _Arthur._ And thirdly, he couldn’t believe that Eames’ students actually asked questions. At the end of every lecture, Arthur inquired if his students had any questions, and the only thing they did was that they fled from the room.  
  
“I hope you didn’t tell them that I smile,” Arthur said.  
  
“To be honest, I wasn’t completely certain myself,” Eames said. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them anything. But I think that’s making them even more curious. We’re going to have to fix this somehow.”  
  
“I don’t know what we could do,” Arthur said, frowning. “Unless you’re willing to walk around in the campus with your girlfriend or something.”  
  
Eames shrugged and took one of the books on Arthur’s desk. It was a very down-to-earth piece about contemporary epistemology.  
  
“So, are you dating someone?” Arthur asked.  
  
“What, are you?” Eames asked, opened the book and winced. “Oh, my god.”  
  
“Don’t be like that.”  
  
“Like what?” Eames asked, still staring at the book. “Have you actually read this?”  
  
“Yes. Eames, you didn’t come here to talk about my books.”  
  
“I didn’t?” Eames blinked and looked at Arthur. “Oh, right. I came here to talk about our students, who seem to think that we’re either secretly dating or that we should be. So, are you seeing someone?”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “Do I look like a person who has a great love life?”  
  
“Certainly,” Eames said and patted _The Extended Contemporary Epistemology_. “I just hope this isn’t what you like to talk about in bed.”  
  
“Don’t you like epistemology?”  
  
“Don’t I like epistemology?” Eames said and winked at him. “Of course I like epistemology. Just not in fine print. You didn’t answer the question, though. How is your love life?”  
  
“Very dull,” Arthur said, sitting back in his chair. “How’s yours?”  
  
“Lately, not very satisfying,” Eames said. “What’s your type, anyway? We’ve been friends for years and you’ve never told me.”  
  
“We’ve known each other for eight months and two weeks,” Arthur said. “What’s yours?”  
  
Eames grinned. “Well, if you’re certain that we’ve only known each other for eight months, I’m not going to tell you. That’s classified information. Think about what our students would do if they found out about my _type._ ”  
  
Arthur bit his lip.  
  
“But I don’t completely dislike all that,” Eames said and made a vague gesture towards Arthur’s desk, or possibly Arthur himself, “the suit and the books and the frown and the ass and stuff.”  
  
“The –“  
  
“The suit? Yeah, I don’t understand how you stand to wear it _every day._ It’s not like we work in a bank or something.”  
  
“It’s not like we work in a comic shop, either.”  
  
Eames glanced at his own shirt. “What? Don’t you like Start Trek?”  
  
“I love Star Trek,” Arthur said and bit his lip. He wanted to get rid of Eames, not to talk about Star Trek with him. He had more work to do, and it was almost six in the evening already. He needed to finish with these papers so that he could take a bus to home and sit on the sofa and watch television and maybe read something. “But The Original Series is so much better than The Next Generation.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” Eames said, looking happy. “All the planets they visit look exactly the same.”  
  
“It’s part of the charm.”  
  
“You’re wrong,” Eames said, “you’re terribly wrong but I forgive you, because you’re a hot teacher. We’re going to have to do something about our students, though. Or are you planning to start dating a nice lady sometime soon? Then maybe you could parade with her in the campus and break all our students’ hearts.”  
  
“That’s very improbable,” Arthur said.  
  
“Which part?”  
  
Arthur swallowed. “The part in which I have a girlfriend.”  
  
Eames stopped smiling for a few seconds. There was something genuinely curious about the way he looked at Arthur. Arthur quickly took the closest book and pretended he was reading it. “So, you’re gay, then,” Eames said in a light voice.  
  
Arthur blinked at the book. “If you tell that to students, I will hide your tea collection.”  
  
“How do you know that I keep a tea collection in my office?” Eames asked, frowning. “Are you spying on me?”  
  
“You’ve told me that multiple times. You always ask me to come to see it.”  
  
“To see what?”  
  
“Your tea collection.”  
  
“Oh,” Eames said, blinking. “For a second I thought I had been more forward than I remembered. Well, back to the point. Obviously, I’m not going to tell anything personal about you to my students.”  
  
“Good,” Arthur said. He wished he could have made himself stop looking at Eames, but it was impossible when Eames was wearing a shirt like that.  
  
“And I’m gay, too,” Eames said. “I just want to make that clear.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur said and then thought about something. “Bloody hell, do you think that our students are aware about…”  
  
“About the fact that we both are gay?” Eames asked. “I don’t think so. These are people who’re majoring in philosophy.”  
  
“It would explain how they have gotten this idea that we should be together.”  
  
“Ah,” Eames said and smiled. “It’s not that.”  
  
“It’s not?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Because I know how they got the idea.”  
  
Arthur blinked. “What? How?”  
  
“Well,” Eames said slowly, “I asked them why they keep insisting that I should date you. And they told me.”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “I meant, how did they get the idea?”  
  
“Oh, you meant that,” Eames said and picked another one of the books on Arthur’s desk. “What’s this?”  
  
“Eames, tell me.”  
  
“Just promise you won’t be angry,” Eames said, looking at Arthur.  
  
Arthur stared back at him. He had nice eyes.  
  
“Okay,” Eames said. “They kind of caught me staring at your ass. On multiple occasions. I didn’t think anyone had noticed. And of course I stopped doing it when I figured out that my students knew about it.” He blinked. “Well, I tried to stop.”  
  
“ _Eames_ –“  
  
“Okay, I tried to be slightly more discreet about it. Are you angry?”  
  
Arthur wasn’t angry. He supposed he should have been, so he frowned a little. “Why would you be staring at my…”  
  
“Your ass? Have you seen it?” Eames pushed his elbow on the desk until it almost knocked over Arthur’s pile of books. “Sorry. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about our problem, and I have a solution.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, I _am_ teaching ethics.”  
  
“This is not a question of ethics.”  
  
“But how can you _know?_ ” Eames said, smiling. Arthur couldn’t understand how he was able to smile _all the time._ Once, Arthur had tried to smile while teaching. He had hurt his face. “And besides,” Eames said, “everything’s about ethics. We should go on a date.”  
  
Arthur blinked. He had thought they were talking about ethics. “What?”  
  
“That’s my solution to our problem,” Eames said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Arthur with a smug face, as if what he was suggesting wasn’t crazy. “The students will be happy.”  
  
“I don’t want them to be _happy_ ,” Arthur said, “I want them to mind their own business.”  
  
“Well, when they’re happy, they will soon get bored,” Eames said. “Why do you think movies end after the first kiss? No one gets excited about looking at a happy couple. We’ll be happy together and they’ll forget about us.”  
  
“That can’t work,” Arthur said, biting his lip.  
  
“What’re you doing on Saturday night?” Eames asked, turning to look through the window. Arthur had been wondering for a while if Eames was just too lazy to shave regularly or if he forgot about it or if the shabby look was something he was intentionally going for. It didn’t work for him, not at all. “Arthur?” Eames said, and Arthur realized he was staring at Eames’ throat.  
  
“Nothing. I’m doing nothing on Saturday night.” He should have lied, but he couldn’t remember what people did on Saturday nights, and besides, Eames studied ethics.  
  
“Great,” Eames said, “I’ll pick you up at seven. Look nice.” And then he stood up and walked to the door, just like that.  
  
Arthur blinked. “You don’t know where I live.”  
  
“I’ll find out,” Eames said and winked, and then he was gone. Arthur stared at the empty doorway and then at the chair where Eames had been sitting in, and then at the book Eames had been browsing, and then at his own hands. He was quite certain he had a date with Eames on Saturday. _Shit._  
  
  
**  
  
  
Ariadne didn’t send him a picture of the stall door in the ladies’ bathroom, so before he left the campus a little before nine, he went to see it for himself. No one sane was in the building that late, anyway. He sneaked into the bathroom and checked every stall until he found the right one, and then he took a picture of the discussion that had been written on it in several different handwritings. It was almost touching how many students seemed interested in Arthur’s love life. He stared at the scribblings for a while and then hurried out of the bathroom as a young woman came in, looking a little confused when she saw him.  
  
“Good evening, professor,” said the woman.  
  
“I’m not a professor,” Arthur said and tried not to sound unhappy about that. He had just finished his PhD. He had time. But the woman still looked confused.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He took a bus home, ate some take-away from three days ago, tried to watch television but couldn’t concentrate, and then went to bed early. There he lay on his back and kept reading the conversation the students were having about him and Eames on the bathroom stall door. Finally, he dropped his phone onto his nose. The argumentation really was quite good, even though it was a little unsettling that apparently the students thought he looked ‘lonely’. And how did they know that he had a thing for Eames’ accent?  
  
In the morning, he texted Ariadne to meet him in his office at the lunch. Ariadne texted back that she wasn’t going to come to Arthur’s office, but Arthur was welcome to come to hers, if he wanted. At lunch time, Arthur bought a sandwich from the cafeteria and went to see Ariadne. He would have knocked on her door, but the door was already open, and she was talking about Kierkegaard to a student who looked like she had a crush on her. Well, Arthur couldn’t blame the student. If he hadn’t been gay, he probably would have tried to kiss Ariadne or something.  
  
“Arthur,” Ariadne said, smiling to him. Then she sent the student away, closed the door and told Arthur to sit down. “If this is about the stall door in the bathroom –“  
  
“Not at all,” Arthur said, “but it’s very convincing. Why is it so convincing?”  
  
“These are philosophy majors,” Ariadne said. “They’ve written essays about whether a tree exists when there’s no one to see it. They can argue.”  
  
“But why’re they so interested in what I and Eames do?”  
  
“I think,” Ariadne said slowly, “that there are many reasons. Maybe they reflect their yearning for a healthy and satisfying relationship on you two, because it’s emotionally safer than encountering their wishes. Or maybe they’re tired of heteronormative expectations of our society, and imagining two men together gives them a chance to imagine love that escapes the gendered norms of romance that they’ve grown up with. Or maybe they just think that you both are hot and that it would be even hotter if you were doing it.”  
  
Arthur blinked. Then he blinked again.  
  
“You look a little pale,” Ariadne said. “Have you been sleeping?”  
  
“Eames asked me on a date.”  
  
“Oh,” Ariadne said. “That certainly explains it. Did you accept?”  
  
“I think so. Should I cancel it? I could go tell him that I’m going to be sick on Saturday.”  
  
“Arthur,” Ariadne said, “I’ve known you for two years and I don’t remember you ever telling me that you’ve been on a date.”  
  
Arthur didn’t say anything.  
  
“Tell me you don’t like Eames,” Ariadne said then, her voice terrifyingly gentle.  
  
Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it.  
  
“Well, then,” Ariadne said. “I think you should go.”  
  
“He told me to look nice. I don’t know how to do that.”  
  
“He can’t stop staring at you in your ridiculous suits. I think you’re going to be fine.”  
  
“What if I actually like him?” Arthur asked, leaning closer.  
  
Ariadne frowned, then took the closest book on her desk. It was Kierkegaard’s _Fear and Trembling_. She put her cup of tea on it and looked at Arthur over it. “If you actually like him,” Ariadne said slowly, “it’s going to be a little frightening to date him, because you’re going to be scared that you might end up hurting yourself. And you can’t know beforehand. So, you’re just going to have to take a leap of faith. It’s worth it.”  
  
“But how do I know that?” Arthur asked.  
  
“You don’t,” Ariadne said. “Did you know that he always stares at your ass?”  
  
“He told me.”  
  
“I can’t understand why you like him,” Ariadne said, grinning. “You should go now. Someone’s coming to talk to me about _Fear and Trembling_ in any minute.”  
  
Arthur went back to his own office. There he read the writings on the bathroom stall door for maybe the sixth time. It still made sense.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Late in the evening, Arthur got a text from Ariadne asking what were the odds that he would sleep with Eames at their first date. Apparently, there was a bet and Ariadne wanted to win. Arthur told Ariadne to leave him alone, and after five minutes, he sent her another text asking if she thought Eames wanted to have sex. She answered that she didn’t know, but did Arthur think the odds were like, twenty-eighty for the sex? Or thirty-seventy? Arthur asked her who else was in, and she told him Dom was certain Arthur would bail out from the date and would go to hang with Dom and Mal instead. Apparently, they were planning to have a movie night on Saturday. Arthur didn’t tell Ariadne that he tried not to hang with Dom and Mal too much these days. Being with them made him lonelier afterwards.  
  
He only saw Eames a couple of times before Saturday. The first time, he sneaked past Eames’ classroom and heard the students laughing at something Eames had just said. It was weird. He had always thought ethics was a grim subject, unlike epistemology.  
  
The second time that he saw Eames, they were at the different sides of cafeteria. Eames winked at him and he almost dropped his tray. And at the third time, Eames stopped at the doorway when Arthur was giving a lecture. Arthur realized vaguely that he kept saying the same thing over and over again, but it didn’t seem to matter, because his students were more interested in glancing between him and Eames than learning about fallibilism.  
  
On Saturday morning, Arthur wondered if he ought to send Eames a text saying that he had just become sick, or that a dog had eaten all his clothes, or that there was an emergency with his dead aunt. Then he remembered he didn’t have Eames’ number.  
  
At seven, Eames rang his doorbell.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“So,” Eames said, when there had been some eating and some drinking and a long walk home. They were standing at the front door of Arthur’s apartment building now. “So, how did I do?”  
  
“Fine,” Arthur said. The whole thing had been almost sweet. He had been terribly nervous at first, of course, but Eames had kept talking for the first half an hour, which had made it much better and not only because Arthur liked his accent _a lot._ He also liked Eames’ voice. And Eames’ face. And Eames’ hands. And Eames’ stupid clothes. And the way Eames apparently figured out when Arthur was getting brave enough to talk, and then asked about things Arthur actually wanted to talk about, like, what was his favorite definition of truth and, of course, Star Trek.  
  
“Fine?” Eames said now. He sounded a little hurt. “I thought I would get an A.”  
  
“I need a bit more material to that,” Arthur said.  
  
Eames smiled a little, but it wasn’t his usual cocky smile. “Did you know that there’s a bet going on in our department? About whether you’re going to sleep with me or not?”  
  
Arthur swallowed. “Ariadne told me.”  
  
“I just need you to know that I didn’t participate,” Eames said and cleared his throat. “Well, I did, but I put my money on you not sleeping with me.”  
  
“Really?” Arthur wasn’t sure why exactly he was disappointed.  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said, “seemed like a good choice, since now I’m going to win either way.”  
  
Arthur glanced at his front door. _“Really?”_  
  
“Of course,” Eames said, his voice a little quieter now, “but to be honest, I don’t care that much about money.”  
  
“You don’t?”  
  
“No. So, you said the date was great, didn’t you? You said you were going to give me an A.”  
  
“Eames,” Arthur said slowly, “I’m not grading you.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” Eames said, staring at him. “You’re trying to decide whether you’re going to give me another chance or not.”  
  
Arthur shook his head. His heart was beating insanely fast, which was odd, because he did a lot of jogging. He had thought his heart was in a good shape. But clearly, spending the evening with Eames was too much for it. “I thought we were doing this just to get rid of our students.”  
  
“Well, of course,” Eames said in a serious voice. “But I told you, the long game here is that we’re going to be happy together. That’s how they will lose all interest in our business. They’ll think that we’re just two boring men who are in a steady, loving relationship and fall asleep on the sofa at night and have very nice sex in the bed they bought together. And then they find something else to think about, because that’s so boring.”  
  
“Very nice sex?”  
  
Eames winced. “Do you prefer nasty sex? Because that’s not really my thing, but I’m willing to try everything once, except roller coasters, because I get seasick. Or movies in which a dog dies. Or pineapple on pizza. I’m not boring or anything, I just know my limits.”  
  
“Nice sex is fine with me,” Arthur said, wondering what nasty sex meant. Then he thought about what he had just said and felt his face heating up. “I mean, we don’t have to –“  
  
“No, I’m fine with it, too,” Eames said, his voice sharper than usually. “We don’t have to hurry, though. It’s only our first date.”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said, clearing his throat, “but… do you want to sleep with me?”  
  
“Of course,” Eames said. “I thought that was obvious.”  
  
“Obvious how?”  
  
“From the evidence. I asked you on a date. I’ve used every possible excuse to come to see you in your office. I’ve asked you to come and see my tea collection, like, ten times. And I’ve been staring at your ass for months.”  
  
“I thought you asked me on a date because of our students.”  
  
“I’m a teacher, I don’t do anything for my students in my free time,” Eames said. “And why would I be staring at –“  
  
“I thought that was a joke.”  
  
“A joke? Haven’t you heard of Occam’s razor?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said pointedly, “so I thought it was a joke. Or something. Men like you don’t usually ask me on dates.”  
  
“You’re very stupid for such a wise man,” Eames said, chewing on his lower lip. Arthur didn’t stare at his mouth or anything. “Listen, do you want to drink tea with me?”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Preferably, yeah.”  
  
Arthur blinked. “Do you actually mean tea or –“  
  
“I actually mean tea,” Eames said, “I’m from England. But if you want to have sex afterwards, I’m pretty sure I’ll be up for it. Depends on the tea. And if you don’t, I’m going to get some money out of that stupid bet, and we could go somewhere fancy next Saturday. What do you think?”  
  
“I think,” Arthur said slowly, “that I’m not sure if I have tea in my flat.”  
  
Eames swallowed visibly. “I could take, I don’t know, hot chocolate.”  
  
“I don’t have that.”  
  
“Or lemonade.”  
  
“I don’t have that either.”  
  
“Or a beer.”  
  
“I have coffee,” Arthur said. “Or wine.”  
  
“Wine is great,” Eames said. He looked surprisingly relieved. Maybe he really liked wine. “So, are you asking me to come in?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said.  
  
“Good,” Eames said, “that’s good. I just wanted to be certain. I’m a little nervous, you know.”  
  
“I don’t know that,” Arthur said. “You don’t look nervous. You never look nervous. You always look like you know what you’re doing.”  
  
Eames laughed shortly. “Wait until you see me in bed.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur said. “So, should we go?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames said and smiled.  
  
Arthur found his keys and stumbled with the lock on the front door, and Eames put his hand on the low of Arthur’s back. Then he pulled it quickly back. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Arthur said and finally managed to open the door. His hands were shaking so he pushed them into his pockets. “I mean, I want you to touch me.”  
  
“Okay,” Eames said and grinned, “good. Great. I mean, thank you.” Then he placed his palm on Arthur’s back again and kept it there when they walked to the elevator. Arthur tried not to think that EAMES WAS TOUCHING HIS BACK. He managed to be very cool about it, but then they got to the elevator and he accidentally pushed three wrong buttons until he hit the right one.  
  
“Sorry,” Arthur said.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Eames said and STROKED HIS ARM. “Did I tell you already that I was so glad when you agreed to go out with me?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur said.  
  
“Well, I did. I was.” Eames frowned. “I am.”  
  
“Good,” Arthur said, and then they finally were on his floor. They walked to his door and somehow managed to open it. Then he remembered he hadn’t cleaned his flat today. He still had dishes in the sink, and he didn’t remember in what condition the toilet was. He had thought about cleaning this afternoon. But cleaning his flat would have meant that he was optimistic about his date, and he hadn’t wanted to be optimistic, because then he definitely would have messed it up. “I’m sorry that my flat is –“  
  
“I love it,” Eames said and walked around. Arthur had only two rooms, so that didn’t take long. “I thought you’d live in a white cubicle. And to be honest, one of the reasons why I put off asking you out was that I didn’t know how this would work out, with you living in a white cubicle, I mean. I have to admit, I like mess. I’m a messy man. And I like bright colors and mismatched furniture. I just couldn’t figure out how we would decorate our own home.”  
  
“What?” Arthur asked.  
  
“What?” Eames asked and then cleared his throat. “Did you say there’s wine?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said and stared at Eames for a while until he remembered about the wine. “Oh, yeah, _the wine._ I’ll just… do you want a glass?”  
  
“If you have one, yes,” Eames said and followed him to the kitchen.  
  
“I think so,” Arthur said and bit his lips. He poured wine in two glasses and passed one to Eames, and then he emptied his own glass before he realized what he was doing. It was weird, being here with Eames, and Eames was looking at him over his glass of wine, his blue eyes soft. Arthur couldn’t understand why any of this happening. It had to be a joke. It just couldn’t happen that for once, a very hot man with a frustratingly lovely accent and a lot of articles written about John Rawls had asked _Arthur_ on a date and was now in his flat, drinking his wine, and looking at him as if there was going to be kissing.  
  
 _Oh, god._ He hadn’t kissed anyone in half a year, and he didn’t much care to think about the kissing that had happened half a year ago.  
  
“Arthur,” Eames said. Arthur swallowed. He wished he could have recorded the way Eames said his name. “Arthur,” Eames said again, putting his still half-full wine glass aside, “I want to say something, because I know you’re a man who’s written hundreds of pages about how we can ever think that we know something. I like you. I like you, I’ve loved spending time with you today, and I’d really like for you to come to my office one day, to see my tea collection.”  
  
“I don’t understand why,” Arthur said in a thin voice.  
  
Eames frowned. “What do you mean why? It’s _tea._ ”  
  
“I meant,” Arthur began, “why me?”  
  
Eames frowned more, then something shifted in his eyes. “Because about a year ago, when I had just heard I’d be coming here next semester, I checked who else was working in the philosophy department. And you were so cute in your picture, and so serious. I wanted to know who you were. And then I read your piece about skepticism and why it’s not a plausible solution. And I thought it was very clever, and witty, and funny. And also you sounded so hopeful, even though you probably weren’t trying to. It was brilliant. And then I came to the campus the last fall and saw your ass.”  
  
Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it.  
  
“And your face,” Eames said. He took a step closer to Arthur. “And I got a chance to talk to you, and you were so much better than I had thought. You were smart and funny but also, I don’t know, ridiculously hard-working. And kind. And you didn’t even realize it.”  
  
“I’m not funny,” Arthur said.  
  
“Yes, you are,” Eames said and leaned against the counter next to him, close enough that Arthur could smell his scent: tea, cologne and red wine. But he wasn’t touching Arthur. “I’m not in a hurry. I could stay for the night and watch Star Trek with you.”  
  
“I might have the season one,” Arthur said, his heart beating in his throat, “in my bedroom.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Season one of The Original Series or The Next Generation?”  
  
“Both,” Arthur said, “I think.”  
  
“You’re perfect,” Eames said, staring at him. “And what do you think of kissing?”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “I’m not against it.”  
  
“Good,” Eames said. “What do you think of kissing me?”  
  
“I…” Arthur took his glass of wine, but it was empty. He put the glass back on the counter. “I like your accent.”  
  
Eames grinned. “I _knew_ it, you goddamn idiot.”  
  
Arthur frowned.  
  
“I mean, you perfect thing. But you were trying so hard to seem like you didn’t like my accent.”  
  
“No, that was just me thinking that… that my brain is trying to ruin me.“  
  
“Well, I would very much like it if you ruined me,” Eames said. “But what about kissing me?”  
  
“I also like your face,” Arthur admitted, “and your personality. But I hate your clothes.”  
  
Eames smiled. “I’m not surprised. My students have been telling me that from the beginning.”  
  
“And I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time. I don’t think I remember how.”  
  
“Oh,” Eames said. “It’s not difficult. You just have to…” And he took a step forward so that he was facing Arthur. He put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Is this okay?”  
  
Arthur nodded.  
  
“Good,” Eames said, his thumb stroking Arthur’s collar bone through the fabric of his shirt. He really wanted to get rid of some clothes but didn’t know if he could handle buttons right now. “So, basically all you have to do is to lean forward and close your eyes.”  
  
“Eames –“  
  
“And I’ll just do this,” Eames said and placed his palm on the side of Arthur’s face. His hand was warm. Maybe a little sweaty, but Arthur didn’t give, well, a shit. He thought he was a little drunk from the wine and also from Eames’ presence.  
  
So, this was probably why he hadn’t dared to go to see Eames’ tea collection. His knees went kind of weak when he was standing too close to Eames.  
  
“And then this,” Eames said and leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart. “It’s this simple, really. I just hope I don’t smell bad.”  
  
“You don’t,” Arthur said and grabbed the front of Eames’ t-shirt. He had probably meant to pat Eames on the chest or something, or to run his fingertips on Eames in a way that was supposed to be seductive. But the fabric was just _terrible._  
  
He leaned in and kissed Eames on the mouth.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next morning, Arthur was thinking vaguely that he might have been wrong about The Next Generation. He was going to give it another chance. And after all the dirty talk last night, he now saw Kant’s categorical imperatives in a new light. The actual light in the room was still dim, but he couldn’t sleep anymore, because he really had to piss. The tricky thing was that Eames was sleeping at his side, his arm wrapped around Arthur’s back as if Arthur was a pillow or something. He didn’t exactly mind. He hadn’t been anyone’s pillow for a long time and there were benefits to that he had forgotten about. But he needed to piss.  
  
He managed to climb off the bed without waking up Eames, and then went to the bathroom. There was this faint ache in his head that probably was due to the wine, Star Trek and kissing. There had been a lot of kissing and some of it in ergonomically compromised positions. They had also had sex. He just hoped Ariadne had bet that they would, because she was his best friend in the department and he knew she had been wanting to buy a new couch.  
  
When he went back to the bedroom, Eames was awake and watching him. He was still naked and the blanket was low on his hips, and Arthur couldn’t help thinking that it had to be a joke. It just couldn’t be true that there was a handsome British philosopher in his bed, grinning tentatively.  
  
 _Occam’s razor_ , he thought determinedly and went to Eames.  
  
“I woke up and I was alone in the bed,” Eames said. “I thought you had sneaked out. Then I remembered that I’m at your place.”  
  
“I didn’t sneak out,” Arthur said. “And I’m not going to.”  
  
“Good,” Eames said. “Listen, I know I wasn’t very inventive last night and that I didn’t last long and that I talked a lot about Immanuel Kant, both during and after we had sex. But I can take feedback. At least if it’s positive. And we can do things differently next time, if you like.”  
  
“There’s no need,” Arthur said. The bed was still warm and Eames’ arm wrapping around his waist was also warm. And heavy. In a very good way. “I was into it. All of it.”  
  
“Good,” Eames said, shifting closer to him and pushing his nose to Arthur’s neck. “That’s lovely. What do you want to do now?”  
  
“Sleep a little more.”  
  
“That’s a good idea,” Eames said. “I think our students are going to be happy about this, and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Did you know that you have a lovely back?”  
  
Arthur thought about what he should say to that, but he thought about it for too long, and then he realized Eames had fallen asleep.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Two weeks later, he stopped at the door of Eames’ classroom. Eames was wrapping up his lecture already, saying something about an essay that was due to the end of the week. Arthur smiled at him. He was wearing his Star Trek t-shirt and he looked ridiculous and lovely and also he had promised to come to Arthur’s place for the night.  
  
Eames frowned at him. It looked like a warning. Arthur frowned back, and then he realized what the warning had been about. All the students in Eames’ classroom turned to stare at him, and then they all sighed happily.  
  
“Okay,” Eames said in a resigned voice, “you can all go now.”  
  
Arthur stood aside, waiting as the students got out of the classroom. They threw long glances at him as they passed him by. He tried not to look them in the eyes, because there was a considerable risk that he might blush. Then, finally, all the students had disappeared, and Eames was alone in the classroom. Arthur walked to him. “Hi.”  
  
“Hi,” Eames said and kissed him. “You smell good. Did you get the message that I sent you?”  
  
“The one with the Russian cat meme? Yeah.”  
  
“Great,” Eames said and kissed him again. “Oh, god, I can’t stop kissing you and I have another lecture in fifteen minutes. What’re you going to do this afternoon? Because I was supposed to be at the seminar and it got cancelled, and I thought we could maybe get out of the campus and have tea and…” And then he said something about a small café not far away from the campus and about the spring and the birds and possibly about the bees, too, but Arthur wasn’t listening anymore. There was a handwritten text on the chalkboard. It was the first formulation of Kant’s categorical imperative, but that wasn’t what was interesting about it.  
  
“Who wrote that?” Arthur asked.  
  
“What?” Eames turned to look. “Oh, I did. Anyway, do you have an umbrella with you? Because I think it’s going to rain. Arthur?”  
  
Arthur was still staring at the chalkboard. The handwriting on it was familiar, and he knew where he had seen it, because he had read the text at least ten times. That was the handwriting of a few most convincing arguments at the discussion about Arthur and Eames’ future happiness on the stall door in ladies’ bathroom. That writer had been certain that Arthur and Eames would live happily together for the rest of their lives.


End file.
